5. The Tempest
Had this storm really come out of nowhere? Unlikely, as the kitchen was full of windows; I had been deeply focused. Thunder has a way of getting one’s attention, however. I looked up from my stirring and studying to see Anne. More specifically, I looked up to see my sister out on the rowboat right in the middle of the squall illuminated in a flash of distant lightning. “What the hell, Anne?” I mumbled. It was almost as if she was trying to get herself killed.
It would be absolutely perfect if my kidnapper/sister/fired travel agent had brought me to a ‘country’ where I didn’t speak the ‘language’ and then got herself killed in the middle of a storm. Or dropped dead from exposure. It wasn’t like I could just trek thirty miles to an embassy to get home.
I was at a loss regarding the inefficacy of the medications, but I knew for a fact that they weren’t helping her. And yet, she kept doing dumb shit.
I felt uncharacteristically dispassionate about her drowned rat look when she burst into my kitchen some time later - dripping water and bits of kelp and what-the-fuck-not all over my freshly cleaned surfaces - promptly and silently pointing her out of the room to dry off before returning to my book.
The 17th century section of Etiquette was full of interesting, potentially pertinent information. For example, did you know that by the middle of the century, people had begun using special knives to scoop out bone marrow for eating? The locals were apparently gnawing open the bones at table for the ‘rich, succulent contents’. Gross - but interesting. It was one thing to use marrow as an ingredient; it was entirely another to eat it from a bone at the table. I could imagine my mother’s face if a guest ever even looked as though they were thinking about slurping from a bone at one of her parties.
I wondered if I would ever see her again.
When Anne returned clean and dry, she said, “Izzy, you have got to stop cooking.” Great. Really glad you came down here. Wordlessly, I handed over her next installment of nutrients - a large steaming cup of herbal tea, a thick slice of fresh bread with butter, and a generous serving of baked bream stew - then turned back to my next baking project. I stared at her while I lit my new joint, daring her to say something. Smoking while cooking was a big no-no, but I was in a special kind of ‘fuck it’ mood today.
After a few minutes of kneading while reading, Anne’s posture of No Intention Of Leaving Any Time Soon began to irritate me. I gritted my teeth and moved on, continuing to read. ...‘people of quality’ customarily had personal sets of cutlery, which were carried about with them to events--
I looked up as the kettle whistled. Anne’s mug was drained, so I refilled it, then added more bread and bream to her plate. I left the butter where it was, mentally sticking out my tongue at her. She nodded in gratitude anyway, pouncing on the top offs. Probably still chilled, I thought, peeking out at the raging storm outdoors. And she probably still had a fever. What on earth had possessed her to go out in these conditions?
“Where did you go?” I asked eventually, my curiosity getting the better of me.
“Oh, I stash messages for myself all over,” she replied blithely. “My Bermuda canister is out there and I wanted to check my notes before heading over tomorrow. I’d forgotten about Davies.”
Messages? For herself? The canisters....had names?? I blinked at the confusing information she had offered up.
“Mmmm.” I turned back to the counter, intending to start on the evening’s main course while I processed. Dr. Chabliss had taught me lots of techniques over the years for processing and dealing with my emotions.
We had learned that I had a lot of deep seated rage as a child.
“A man on the island. Nice guy. Bad businessman,” she continued, practically cheerful. “I’d love to set him and Mary up. Hopefully Mary’s husband died while I’ve been gone.” I blinked, wondering what he’d done to earn such disdain. Also, who the fuck was Mary? I frowned in Anne’s general direction. Also, didn’t she see that I was studying? “She deserves so much better.”
“Mmmmm.” I went back to work, thankful for the silence that once again filled the room. Why the hell was Anne even in the kitchen, let alone full of jejune conversation about medieval strangers? She had the entire captain’s cabin to sit in, and I didn’t want to hear about her secret friends. Your sister’s secrets have secrets.
I tilted the meat and vegetables on the cutting board into the Dutch oven. A few shakes of this...a spoonful of that... I added a few sprigs of fresh herbs and went back to reading.
The next portion was an incredibly dry, detailed description of proper dining etiquette among the upper classes. At least it was relatively familiar, as it was hard to focus with Anne there, cheerfully looming nearby. I took a final deep drag before putting out my joint. Seriously, why was she here? Anne never hung out in the galley. And why was she giving me all the words except the ones I wanted?
Dear Izzy, I am sorry that I kidnapped you to the land before time. It is especially abhorrent that I neglected to provide you with an informational pamphlet. I mean, how hard would that be to express? And now she was sitting here distracting me while I tried to cram.
Two weeks with access to the internet, and I could have been so much more prepared! I turned the page and started rolling out the next batch. Taking out my anger on piles of dough was productive: making bread and burning calories at the same time. When in public, the proper lady--
Wait. Why did Anne still have a fever? Unless...I stared at Anne, then went to the cabinet with the first aid kit and dug out the two bottles of antibiotics. “Son of a bitch,” I mumbled to myself. Both bottles had been unopened when we arrived, with an equal amount of pills. The bottle that was supposed to be unopened had somehow gained more pills than it said on the label.
I stared at her. My anger rose when I took in her still damp hair, a reminder of her venture out into the storm. This was beyond rejecting medical care. My asinine sister - who still hadn’t given me an explanation or an apology - was actively trying to die.
My hands balled into fists at my sides.
“Mary,” Anne rattled on as if on cue, seemingly unaware of the volatile human she was sharing the space with. “She’s my main crew on Bermuda.” She paused. “Hates boats and the ocean but what can you do,” Anne shrugged. “Her son Edmund used to help her but now Dom does most of that work.”
Unbelievable. “What do you have to say for yourself? Explain this shit,” I snapped, slamming the pills down onto the counter. I caught the rolling pin as it fled the violence.
“Say what? Oh, thank you for the bread,” Anne replied finally. “It’s delicious.”
“No!” I exclaimed, feeling completely beyond myself. She was going on and on about David and Mary and Dan and I didn’t want to hear about any of it. “You kidnapped me - straight into a gunfight, I might add - and all I’ve been trying to do since then is make sure you survive the injuries you sustained!” My voice shook with anger and barely restrained tears. “And now I’m trying to study for this fucking mess you’ve dragged me into, and you come in here and start chatting about your fucking secret friends from your fucking secret life!” I glared at her, arms crossed. “At the very least you owe me an apology, and I shouldn’t have had to ask for one, either!”
“It’s not the same,” Anne mumbled, rubbing her hands back and forth across the table.
“It is the same! You haven’t said you’re sorry.” She couldn’t simply apologize, oh no, I had to drag it out of her. Just like she had turned finally agreeing to take me home into some strange piece of performance art. “Or maybe in this strange little fucked up world of yours an apology requires a magic potion and ceremony too--”
And then Anne was looming over me. I hadn’t even seen her get up.
“I am not a witch,” she yelled, then wrenched the rolling pin from my hand, waving it around furiously while she raged unintelligible nonsense.
“Anne?” I stared at her in confusion.
“Not a witch! Stay back!” She was shouting at me to keep away, but Anne was the one suddenly, menacingly advancing on me. Then she hit me with some fancy martial arts move that involved yanking me off balance by the arm and then sweeping my leg from under me. What the ACTUAL FUCK. I went down hard, gasping for air; she’d knocked the wind out of me.
“Stay away!” Lightning struck nearby, illuminating the kitchen in an unsettling, ethereal light.
“Anne?” I croaked. It was like a nightmare where you’ve gone hoarse during an attack, and can’t speak above a pin drop. “Anne?” My limbs finally remembered how to work again and I scuttled backwards, away from the embodiment of the wrathful fire goddess of my nightmares.
“Get out! Get away from me! It’s just a tattoo! It’s just a tattoo! The brand means nothing. Nothing! I do not deserve this, you bastard! I do not deserve this!”
...Who did she think was she talking to, exactly? “Anne!”
“I’ll kill you!” Anne screamed at me. I was backed into the corner with nowhere else to go. Stupid. I should have scuttled towards the door. Stupid, stupid, stupid. “I’ll kill you and all your descendants! You’ll never be free of me!”
A jolt of adrenaline shot through me as the lightning struck again outside, and I screamed back at her. “Diane!! Stop! What the fuck is wrong with you‽”
I was breathless and shaking as Anne slowly rejoined reality. I wanted to ask if she was okay, but I was too afraid to utter a syllable.
I didn’t even know if I was okay.
“No.” She murmured, backing away from me. “No apologies. I know what I did. I did what I did. I would do it every time.” She tossed the rolling pin to the side and stalked up the stairs, back into the waiting arms of the storm.
I retreated to my cabin, haunted by her words every step of the way.
No apologies. I know what I did. I did what I did. I would do it every time.
No apologies. I know what I did. I did what I did. I would do it every time.
No apologies. I know what I did. I did what I did. I would do it every time.
No apologies. I know what I did. I did what I did. I would do it every time.
I shut and locked the door, wishing I had a more substantial lock. God only knew what I’d do if Anne snapped again and breached the door.
Breached. Twenty years, and this was what it had all come to.
Everyone had always said the most awful things about Anne, but I had defended her at every turn. From our teachers, our snobby classmates, the other little snobs at the clubs, from our parents.
Your sister is such a crackhead.
...Let me guess, Anne ran away again?
...You can’t carry her forever, Izzy.
I know you love her, but come on - she’s a mess.
Maybe this side of Anne was one that everyone else had always been able to see.
I stared out into the storm. For all I knew, Anne had decided to go swimming this time, and I would be left here alone until I went mad or starved or suicided.
Sometime after the rain eventually stopped, I heard her footsteps in the hall and tensed. Anne knocked, then said, “I’ll let you know when we dock.”
Great. I had an update for her too. “When we get back home, I’m moving out.”
